


The Long Way Down

by Eddd



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), F/F, Hurt Beauregard Lionett, Illustrations, Major Character Injury, Near Death, One Shot, POV Yasha (Critical Role), Pain, Temporary Character Death, Yasha-centric (Critical Role), beauyasha - Freeform, gaaay, stormlord - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eddd/pseuds/Eddd
Summary: When an undead battle turns to a nightmare for Yasha, she must do what she can to save the person she loves.Includes illustration![Insert ubiquitous statement about being bad at writing summaries...]
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 5
Kudos: 128





	The Long Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-Yasha getting her feathered wings. Also entirely throws canon away. I make my own rules, just you try and stop me!
> 
> Basically I wrote this because I guess I wanted some written pain to go with the fanart I just finished drawing. Illustration at the end!

Magician’s Judge carves through the air, flesh, and bones in a smooth and unbroken pendulum swing from where Yasha grips it with both hands. A zombie head hits the dirt. There’s a sickly hissing and sucking sound as the necrosed skin of this poor creature pulls taught and expands with the gas that’s building inside the limp body as it collapses. There’s only a moment to react, Yasha twisting and lifting her arm to protect her head as her back and shoulder take the full force of the small explosion. Teeth grit, she is pushed forwards into the mud and rocks, a burning pain scorching across her back and the air filling with an noxious cloud of stinking undead gas. Fortunately the wind whipping over the edge of the cliff top on which she stands whisks the toxic mist away before it can do any damage of its own.

She’s up and on her feet again in moments, shrugging away the pain and lifting her sword again. There are more of these pitiful creatures left and the Mighty Nein are in danger. There’s work to do. The rest of her found family are holding their own despite being surrounded by these explosive undead attackers. She always feels a swell of pride at the fact; each of them are strong in their own ways. 

From the periphery of the battle scene she sees Nott, darting between boulders and trees, firing shots from her crossbow to take out stragglers. On the other side of the cliff top clearing Caleb is conjuring walls of fire to corner collections of the undead, preventing them from detonating in the face of their friends. Caduceus and Jester are casting guidance and healing spells left, right, and centre, enhancing everyone’s ability to fight and keeping them all alive while they do so. Fjord is dicing his way through scores of the undead, dodging the subsequent aftershocks of their explosive demise and keeping their clerics safe in the process. 

And then there is Beau, knee-deep in the fray and putting those knees to good use. She’s a blur of movement, whirling and flipping, punching and kicking, a trail of broken bones and combusted zombies in her wake. Yasha permits herself a small smile at the sight. Beau is a ferocious fighter and the toughest human Yasha has ever met. The zombies get countless good hits in, but the cobalt-clad monk simply takes it and keeps going. Her entire body is a weapon.

Another wave of twelve or so undead claw their way through the edge of the forest to their left. Yasha draws in a deep breath and surges forward. Heads fly. 

Now she stands amongst these foes, she realises she has miscalculated the numbers. She has already cut her way through half of the dozen she initially thought she saw and there are at least as many again still advancing. She can’t swing her sword fast enough and they begin to surround her. A moment later and she can start to feel their rotting nails and teeth dragging at her shoulders and legs, the acrid smell of death filling her nostrils to the point of nausea.

“Yasha, heads up!”

The lightning comes fast with a loud crack, shattering and scorching the undead bodies in front of Yasha leaving a clear path in its wake to the source; Beau stands not far away, fists still cracking with electricity as she shoots Yasha one of her trademark grins. The grins that, even after everything, stir butterflies in the barbarian’s middle. Yasha has a pang of guilt each time she feels them, like she doesn't deserve them.

The grin is short lived, however, as Beau’s expression turns to one of alarm and grit determination as she begins a flat out sprint towards Yasha. The reason for her concern occurs to Yasha only a moment later; a dozen undead are falling to the ground in front of her, flesh contorting with the inflation of the explosive gas that is rapidly preparing to blow. For Yasha this is simple: there’s no way she’s going to survive this. Turning to face her fate, she closes her eyes and exhales the breath she has been holding for what feels like years now. 

‘I will see you soon, my love,’ is her final thought.

The impact comes, but not as she expects. Less an obliterating shock wave of fire and agony - more an athletic tackle from her right, knocking any remaining air from her lungs and propelling her violently sideways. Amidst even this much chaos she can still spare a thought to marvel once again at the sheer incredible limits that a human can push their body to, as Beau’s arms wrap around her waist. The monk’s momentum hauls them both just far enough away that when the actual undead explosion comes, neither of them are vapourised on the spot.

But it still fucking hurts.

Somewhere between the force of the explosion and the leftover momentum of Beau’s tackle the pair are jettisoned far from where Yasha had initially stood. What with her position being already near the cliff’s edge, there really is nowhere else to go but over. 

It all happens so fast that they’re already in free fall by the time Yasha is able to comprehend it all. Eyes now open, she sees the tidal wave of toxic undead gas wash over the cliff above them as they both plummet down. Beau’s arms loosen their grip as they fall, but she takes a firm hold of the belt around Yasha’s waist. More - and rather misplaced, considering the situation - butterflies swarm in Yasha’s middle as she feels Beau’s fingers tuck around the leather of her belt, pressing close to her abdomen through her tunic. They are so rarely this close, Yasha cannot help but cherish it, though the guilt churns with them.

Split seconds have passed since the explosion but Beau is springing to action, alert and glancing below them and other arm outstretched in readiness for something Yasha can’t yet see. Twisting her body in the air she is finally able to locate what Beau is waiting for; a rock, sticking out of the wall of the cliff. The second she spots it Yasha knows what Beau is planning and knows it won’t work. 

Her hands close around Beau’s wrist, attempting to break the monk’s hold of her belt - perhaps Beau may at least be able to save herself. To no avail, it seems, as Beau’s vice-like grip doesn’t budge at all. And then it’s too late.

Beau’s hand finds purchase on the rock as they pass it and Yasha can actually feel the breaking of bones as the human’s body goes taught in an attempt to break their freefall. Yasha herself feels like she’s being snapped in half as the strain of the violent halt to their descent sends a shockwave down her spine. Beau’s guttural, agonised scream is like a knife through Yasha’s heart. 

“Beau-” Yasha hears herself murmur with the little breath she has left.

The hand at Yasha’s waist never weakens its hold, but Beau’s grip of the rock slips loose and they’re falling once again. Yasha immediately pulls Beau close into her body in a protective embrace, turning in the air to see the rocky ground coming up to meet them soon. Now it is her turn.

Her skeletal, tattered wings are no help to escape the fall, but they erupt from her back and quickly curl around her and Beau. It likely won’t do much good, but at this point anything was worth the try. She rolls until she is facing the sky and hugs the smaller woman tightly as the wings block out the setting sun and the rush of wind from her ears. 

For just a moment, it’s warm and peaceful there in her shrouded cocoon. If only they could stay here, safe and protected, instead of the agony of the looming impact.

And then pain. The rocks are as unforgiving as rocks ever are. They rip and shred her body as she hits them, tumbling over and over layers of jagged and scraping stone. All she knows is pain. Broken bones. Open wounds. Twisting limbs. Her wings can’t hold themselves together for long, flying open and spilling out Yasha and Beau’s battered forms.

Eventually it ends and the spinning stops. She is laying on her back taking laboured, ragged breaths in and out. Her skin feels like it’s on fire and she can feel the hot wet of blood. Her muscles are screaming and her bones are shaking with the pain. 

But she is alive.  _ Somehow _ . 

“Beau-” she murmurs weakly, then again louder.

When there is no response she clenches her jaw and summons strength from somewhere to push herself up and onto one elbow, pushing through the excruciating shooting pains that come with the motion. She looks around. 

They’re at the rocky foot of the cliff, the layers boulders and splinters of stone cascading down to flat ground which disappears into the forest after twenty or so feet away. Beau is laying on her back some ten feet to her right, her face turned away. She is unmoving.

Yasha’s heart forges on in her chest, the heavy thuds sending throbbing pain to every limb as she heaves herself over and drags herself to Beau’s side. She swallows the sickening lurch in her stomach as she draws close enough to see the woman’s beaten and bloodied skin. The rushing in her ears is back but this time it’s not the wind. Reaching out shakily she puts a hand ever-so-gently on Beau’s chest. Still. Yasha’s fingers tighten with the adrenaline coursing through her body and she bunches her fist up in Beau’s shirt. No. No, no, no. 

“B-Beau?” Her voice is little more than a whimper but even so it cracks as a sob starts fighting its way up her throat.

She shifts her weight, wincing again with the splintering pains in her bones as she does so, reaching over to Beau’s cheek, delicately turning the woman’s head to face her. Closed and purpled eyelids look back at her, a trickle of blood trailed from her nose. 

This can’t be happening. 

“Beau,” she says again, stroking the woman’s cheek softly with her thumb. “Beau, please wake up.”

It’s childish and there is so much more that she means to say but these are the only words she can form right now. An infantile plea to a broken body.

The seconds tick by and Yasha’s eyes rake frantically over Beau’s lifeless form. Her breathing is getting heavier now, a dizzy sickness starting to swell in the pit of her stomach as her search for any sign of movement from the monk finds nothing. Holding onto the fistful of Beau’s shirt, Yasha concentrates and attempts to cast healing hands. The magic is weak, like she is herself, and what little of it there is evaporates from her fingertips without effect. Beau has never looked so small.

The sob ripples through Yasha’s body and out, more of a scream than a cry, paving the way for more. And more do follow. She shakes with them, the tears burning her grazed skin and her lungs aching with every gasp.

Not again. This cannot happen again.

It’s her fault. She knows she is cursed and she should have left the Mighty Nein long ago… before someone else got hurt. It was selfish to stay. Selfish to allow herself to feel the warmth of this found family instead of walking away and ensuring their safety. Selfish to stay again and again, so she can keep seeing just one more of those trademark grins. Beau isn’t grinning now.

She thinks of the others, above, unaware of what has happened down here, unable to put any of their emergency diamonds to use. Her eyes are awash with tears as she looks back up to the cliff face, trying to gauge the height. A hundred and fifty feet, easily. No clear route to climb back up. Even if there was, it must have been sixty seconds already since… since….

“Please,” she whispers, leaning gently over so her forehead rests lightly on Beau’s. She closes her eyes and breathes in what she can of the human before it’s gone forever. “Please stay.”

The image of Beau’s smile and brilliant blue eyes, alive and vibrant, fills her mind. Beau’s energy and spirit, her bad jokes and her awkward compliments that make Yasha feel warm and wanted - all of it fills her up. So much life and beauty and love, gone. It’s more than unfair - it’s not going to happen.

‘You will not let her be taken’, says Yasha’s voice in her own mind. 

Her eyes snap open and she lifts her head skywards to the cloudy evening sky. A roll of thunder echoes across the landscape and in moments the light pink clouds of sunset turn dark and heavy. The cold, damp wind of an incoming storm whips around the clearing within minutes. To Yasha it feels like life.

‘I will not allow this,’ she thinks, slipping a hand under Beau’s shoulders and the other under her knees. 

She doesn’t even remember the pain now as she stands, Beau draped limply in her arms. Clouds turn and thicken above her, a dark shadow overtaking the cliff side and bathing her in evening gloom. But this is her nectar. This is her power.

The rumbling rolling storm clouds above flash with a sheet of white hot light. Yasha takes a breath in, deep. 

“Stormlord,” she whispers. “I know you can hear me. Help me.”

Another crack of thunder rings out, this time louder and sharper, reverberating in her chest. She looks up. “Help me,” she says again. “Save her.” She lowers her gaze to take in Beau’s face once more. One last time, perhaps. It won’t matter if she survives this, after all. 

The lightning comes without further delay and with no warning. It snakes down from the sky, a thick unbroken bolt of electric light, straight into her body. White hot and so searing that Yasha thinks maybe this agony is all there is any more. She’s blinded by it, deafened by it, and numbed by it. Does she even have a body still? Has it not just evaporated into thin air?

And then it ends and she’s still standing amongst the rocks at the foot of the cliff, holding the woman she loves in her arms. She’s got nothing left now, so she falls heavily to her knees. Thin trails of smoke rise up from both hers and Beau’s bodies and she can see the edges of the monk’s hair are singed and frizzy. 

And then Beau breathes. A sudden, urgent gasp inwards and her body tenses as Yasha holds her. Another sob erupts from Yasha’s chest and she clutches Beau tightly. It feels like she must never let go, like Beau’s life will escape again if she does. There’s a weak groan from the bloodied form in her embrace.

“Fuck- Yasha… can’t… breathe-”

Shit. Yasha loosens her grip urgently, allowing Beau to roll outwards a little and suck in another lungful of air. Those startling blue eyes are open and looking around uncertainly. Finally they find Yasha’s own mismatched pupils to focus on and there they stay for a moment as both women catch their breath.

“Yasha…”

“Yes?”

“...Is something burning?”

Yasha barks out a laugh. She can’t help it. It’s goofy and nasally but she doesn’t care. Beau is staring at her with wide and surprised eyes, but a faint smile on her face. She looks up at the cliff.

“See,” she says with her usual comedic bravado. “I knew we could make that.”

Again, all Yasha can do is laugh, the sound strange even to her own ears. She must look a sight, giggling with red, puffy eyes and covered in blood and bruises. The laughs aren’t far from sobs anyway and she thinks Beau probably notices that too. She makes no effort to escape Yasha’s embrace.

“The others still up top?” She asks when Yasha’s laughs subside.

Yasha nods wordlessly, with a sniff. 

“Sucks to be them, then. They gotta take the long way down.”

“I think,” Yasha says with another sniff, “next time I would prefer if we also took the long way down.”

Beau takes a handful of Yasha’s tunic and holds it securely in her fist, like a lifeline. She looks back at Yasha and grins, that perfect, cocky, trademark Beauregard smile. 

“If you insist.”

This time Yasha doesn’t feel guilty about the butterflies.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments welcome.


End file.
